Epilogophilia: When I Look Back On All the Things
by cheride
Summary: It's just guy talk: a girl, a car, maybe some Pinky Fizz.


_This is a work of fan fiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle and McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

**Epilogophilia: When I Look Back On All the Things**

_After a brief encounter with an attractive woman, who snubs him for a guy with a 'real' car, McCormick has another attack of acute adulthood envy. He decides that chasing bad guys in the Coyote, and sitting around afterward drinking Pinky Fizz, shows a certain lack of maturity. He can't get out of the bad guy chasing part of his lifestyle, but at least he can make a stab at acquiring some grown-up transportation. _

_Unfortunately, when he attempts to trade up to something with four doors, he inadvertently discovers that his credit rating (What credit rating is that, you ask?) has been ruined by none other than Melinda Marshall—his former girlfriend and the woman responsible for having him arrested, six years earlier, for driving off in the Porsche he had registered in her name._

_Melinda is selling real estate for a shady guy named Ted Rubin. She used Mark's name on a contract in order to win the sales incentive prize—a Cadillac. When an attempt is made to steal Melinda's prize, Hardcastle suspects there's something more there than just a car. A thorough search reveals the vehicle was being used to transfer illegal gains in the form of rare stamps. (Why? Never mind.) _

_Rubin and his accomplices are captured by the FBI when they show up at the estate. The Coyote, an innocent bystander, is accidentally immolated. Melinda agrees to testify against her former boss._

_At the end of the episode Hardcastle is driving Melinda's Caddy, with Mark in the passenger seat, when they are pulled over by a police officer. He is informed that the vehicle has been reported stolen. Melinda, airhead to the end, has struck again._

**Epilogue—**by Cheride

"Hey, how'd it—" McCormick broke off and jumped to his feet to follow the quickly moving judge down the hallway. "Hey! What's going on? What's wrong?" he asked, hurrying to catch up with the other man.

"What's wrong?" Hardcastle asked, shooting an angry glare at the ex-con but not breaking his stride. "_What's_ _wrong_? I just spent five hours answering stupid questions, trying to prove to people that I didn't steal a car, that's what's wrong! And, in case it's escaped your attention, it was because of _your_ girlfriend!"

McCormick stopped then, stunned into immobility. He stared after the older man, convinced Hardcastle would stop when he realized he was continuing on alone, but it soon became clear that would not be the case. "What the hell?" he muttered, then scurried again after the older man. "She's _not_ my girlfriend," he snapped as he caught up with the jurist. He paused a few seconds, then added sullenly, "But I am sorry she dragged you into this."

Hardcastle slowed down a bit then, and cast a glance over at the young man as they stepped out onto the steps of the police station. "Well," he conceded grudgingly, "I didn't say it was your fault." But then his expression became quizzical. "But where've you been?"

"Huh?" That surprised McCormick, as he directed them through the parking lot. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Aren't you the resident jailbreak expert around here?" Hardcastle asked gruffly. "And then you just disappeared, leaving me with all the stuffed shirts."

McCormick chuckled slightly. "Well, you probably needed a lawyer, not a jail breaker. Besides, you give me too much credit, Kemosabe. This isn't some kinda banana republic, or a backwoods, one-cell jail. This is the Los Angeles County Jail we're talking about here."

"Oh, too much for ya, huh?" Hardcastle growled as they climbed into the pickup, and McCormick was glad to see some humor returning to the crusty remarks. "So you just decided to leave me to my fate?"

"Oh, come on, Hardcase. It's not like you got life in a hard labor camp," McCormick grinned. "It was a few hours of questioning. Trust me; a run-in with Melinda Marshall can go a lot worse." He glided the truck into traffic. "And besides, even the LA county lock-up isn't too much for me; it just takes a different kind of escape plan. Once they told me that Agent Walls and his guys had already taken off for Miami, that's when I had Frank get me a ride home so I could make some plans." He glanced over at his passenger. "I called Carl Pickering."

Hardcastle raised an eyebrow. "My accountant?"

Mark nodded. "Sure. Like I said, I know the damage Melinda can inflict. I wanted to make sure I could get bail arranged, just in case."

That seemed to surprise the judge even further. "You were arranging my bail?"

"Just in case," McCormick assured him. "Just wanted to make sure someone could fork over the cash if it was necessary."

Hardcastle examined the younger man for a long moment, then dragged a hand over his head. "Hmph," was all he said, as he turned to look out the window.

"What?" McCormick demanded good-naturedly. Then a thought hit him. "You didn't _really_ think I'd leave you there?"

Hardcastle shrugged. "I have been giving you kind of a hard time lately. And it did look like you were getting a pretty big kick out of the whole thing there at the beginning. I seem to remember hearing a lot of things like 'now you'll see what it's like' and 'it serves you right'."

The young man grinned. "In the first place, Judge, you _always_ give me a hard time. If that was all it took to make me give up on you, you'd still be rotting in San Rio. And as for the other . . . well, I don't think you can blame me for that. But then I figured one innocent schmuck sacrificed to the altar of Melinda Marshall was enough for any partnership. Lucky for you I already took one for the team."

"That's the way you see it, huh?"

McCormick's grin disappeared. "C'mon, Hardcase. Even you must be ready to admit by now that she's a Class A flake, and that a guy oughta be allowed to drive his own car without being arrested, much less _imprisoned_."

"She didn't exactly back you up on that," Hardcastle hedged.

"And I'm bettin' she's not the one who finally got things cleared up for you back there, either," Mark said confidently. "Getting people _out_ of jams just isn't what she does, Judge."

"Hm," Hardcastle murmured thoughtfully, then stared out the window for a few miles.

McCormick let the silence be, marveling at the idea that they could've come so far together in the past few years and still be worlds apart on this one topic.

Finally, just before the quiet had become tense, the judge said, "I'm sorry about your car, kiddo."

"Yeah," McCormick sighed, "me, too." He wondered briefly—hopefully—if that was supposed to be a more all-encompassing apology, then decided the old guy was still living in too much denial, so he accepted it at face value. "I know it was just a car," he went on, "and I know I said I wanted something more grown-up. But even if I was thinkin' about getting rid of it, I didn't want to see it destroyed."

"I know it meant a lot to you," Hardcastle replied.

Mark blew out another breath. "Yeah it did." He thought for a second, then added, "And now I don't even have a way to make a down payment on something else."

"Don't worry about that, McCormick," Hardcastle answered quickly, "I can help you get a car."

"A couple of days ago you didn't even want to _talk_ about a car loan," McCormick reminded him petulantly.

"A couple of days ago, things were different."

McCormick wondered for a second about the deeper meaning of that, too, but the other man seemed to read the thought on his face and quickly set him straight.

"I mean," Hardcastle clarified, "a couple of days ago, you didn't _need_ a car; now you do." He shook his head ruefully. "And all things considered, I decided to go ahead and let the cops keep Melinda's car booked as evidence. No sense risking that."

"Oh, so you admit it would be a risk?" McCormick asked with a triumphant smirk. "A guy like you, it turns into five hours of annoying questions. A guy like me, it's two to ten in maximum security."

"Well . . . _maybe_."

"Maybe? _Maybe_? Judge, you met her!"

Hardcastle smiled at him. "Best you're gonna get, kiddo."

McCormick held out for a beat, then smiled in return. "Not like an apology would change anything, anyway," he said, "and I wouldn't want you to strain yourself." He let it go. "But you'll really help me out with a new car?"

"Sure. We'll get you something nice and respectable. Very mature. Not red."

"Okay." McCormick thought that sounded almost perfect. Almost. He flashed a grin at the judge. "When we get home, whattaya say we seal the deal with a Pinky Fizz?"

Hardcastle just laughed as they drove on toward Malibu.


End file.
